To Build A Home
by TravelingSong
Summary: "The little girl's face lights up every time he looks at her. Every time her small hand encircles one of his fingers, all the burdens are lifted from his shoulders and he glows. She'll never tire of the sight. It's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen."
1. Chapter 1

**AN: A bit different from what I usually write. This is a collection of moments between Red, Lizzie and Agnes. Some happiness for the hiatus. Enjoy and let me know what you think!**

* * *

It starts with a particularly demanding case and a phone call.

"Red, I'm really sorry, but I don't know how…do you think you could-"

 _Go to my house? Watch her tonight? Make sure she eats enough? Take care of her?_

"Yes, Lizzie. Of course."

* * *

She comes home to find him in her armchair, the house quiet.

"Hello, Lizzie. How did your case go?"

"Successfully. Is she sleeping?"

"Yes."

"And things went okay?"

"We had a lovely evening, Agnes and I. She's a wonderful child, Lizzie."

"Thank you, Red."

"My pleasure."

She feels strange, watches him as he grabs his coat and hat, watches him turn before he opens the door.

"Don't hesitate to call me, Lizzie. If you need anything at all, don't hesitate to call me."

* * *

She calls him the next morning.

He comes over for dinner.

He spends the night for the first time three days later.

* * *

He smiles in his sleep now. Just like the little girl.

It's something she's come to notice on the rare occasion she wakes before him. She remembers his sleeping habits from their time on the run together, how he used to wake up distraught, sometimes trembling, yet she never asked the right questions.

This is a different Raymond Reddington altogether. Serene, calm. Not running, not being chased. It's the man underneath the persona, the man she called once to watch her daughter.

He is so full of love for the two of them. There were times she didn't realize this, couldn't have, but she can't imagine life without it now. She can't imagine life without waking up to a kiss on her forehead and his sweet expression.

She might become a morning person after all.

* * *

"You're spoiling her, Red."

"I know." He says it with pride, not regret.

She can't help but smile at him.

* * *

She likes to watch them.

Sometimes she comes home after an exhausting day at work and there he is, fast asleep on the couch, armor off and sleeves rolled up and his vest unbuttoned, with her resting on his chest, softly rising and falling to the pattern of his breathing, his hand holding her to him safely, instinctively, gently.

Sometimes she wakes in the middle of the night and the bed is empty and the baby monitor gives her a clue, and she silently sneaks up on him in the nursery, the little girl in his arms, much more awake than her mother, which isn't difficult these days, and he is whispering and tells her a story and speaks of magical things, of princesses forgiving monsters, of love and _sleep now, sweetheart_ , and the little girl closes her eyes reluctantly, slowly, slowly, slowly, doesn't want to miss a word he is saying, and she understands that impulse, too. He is quite a gifted storyteller. When he sees her, finally, he smiles and she takes his hand. _Come to bed_ , she says and he nods and kisses her.

Sometimes she walks into the kitchen and sees her strapped into her highchair and he's cooking right by her side, lectures her on the importance of nutritious and healthy ingredients, and she's giggling, entertained by his use of complicated words, and he puts down the utensils and moves towards her, _do you find that funny, Agnes_ , and tickles her cheek and neck, _do you_ , and the house is filled with laughter.

She never thought she could be this happy.

* * *

"Would you like to go on a trip, Lizzie?"

"Where would we go?"

"Anywhere you'd like."

"What about work?"

"I could talk to Harold. Surely there are criminals to catch anywhere in the world." He kisses the corner of her lips. "We could call it an investigative expedition."

"How about Spain?"

"Why Spain?"

"Because you once promised me Spain and took me to Iowa instead."

He beams at her and pulls her closer and closer.

* * *

The little girl's face lights up every time he looks at her.

Every time her small hand encircles one of his fingers, all the burdens are lifted from his shoulders and he _glows_.

She'll never tire of the sight. It's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen.

* * *

Sometimes he needs to leave, ever the businessman and some things can't be delegated, and then he kisses them goodbye, promises he'll be back before they know it.

She misses him the instant he closes the door.

He always comes back with a gift.

* * *

They're having dinner, Agnes seated in between them and a spoon quickly approaching her, _open your mouth, sweetheart_ , and the little girl doesn't stand a chance against the pleading eyes of the man in front of her, she really does come after her mother, it's that particular pout of his, the criminal mastermind and his rather unfair methods.

"Good girl," he says.

She can't believe this is her evening routine on most days now, still, after all these months, to have him at her kitchen table, to spend time with him and her daughter, a family and the certainty he will be there in the morning, next to her, always next to her.

She reaches for his hand and holds on to it and he kisses her palm.

Every so often she thinks her heart might burst from sheer affection.

* * *

"There's something I'd like to discuss, Lizzie."

"It's about us?"

"Yes."

"Should I be worried?"

"No."

"Do you have to go on another trip?"

"No."

"So?"

"How do you like the idea of us moving? There is a house I'd like to show you and it's rather perfect for the three of us."

"The three of us?"

"Yes. A home for the three of us."

She thinks she might be dreaming.

* * *

Files are scattered across the table and she's slowly working her way through them, another day, another case, and she hears them play in the living room, a welcome distraction, the sound she loves the most.

She watches as he puts his fedora on the child's head and she almost disappears.

It's her legs that sway in delight, her muted giggle from underneath the wool.

"Almost as sophisticated as her father," he says while smiling at her and it takes him a second too long until he realizes.

He looks scared and sorry and that just won't do and she's quickly by his side.

"Almost," she says and encircles his waist. "She's getting there."

His kiss is closed eyes and silent gratitude and a million other things.

* * *

She had a fantasy once. About a walk in the park and a husband and their little girl.

The reality of it, she thinks, is so much better.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Had to add another chapter after all the nice comments on Ch 1. Enjoy!**

* * *

It's a Sunday when they find the time for a short trip.

He shows her the house without commentary, it needs to be her own, this first impression, without bias or influence. He had looked at so many estates over the past months, always detecting a problem, something that didn't feel right. Except for this one. This one was perfect.

He's nervous but feigns confidence, follows as she steps into another room.

"The nursery," he finally says, a bit too quiet.

His taste really is impeccable, she thinks. They could paint the room yellow, something bright and joyous and wonderful, she can picture it so vividly, colorful photographs and a future.

They could make it their own, this house, just big enough but not excessive.

She takes his hand and pulls him closer.

"When are we moving?"

* * *

"You can't paint in that."

Surrounded by brushes and cans of paint, she stares at him with blatant skepticism. He had been at a meeting and she had expected him home much sooner, and now here he was, all business attire, tie and vest and not willing to lose another minute. She's never seen anyone look this sophisticated in the middle of a remodeling.

As he discards his jacket and rolls up his sleeves, he almost smirks.

"Watch me, Lizzie."

* * *

She spends the first night in their new home on the porch, watches the sun set and the stars appear, so much brighter here just outside the city. He hands her a blanket and a glass of wine, joins her close to midnight after all his tasks are taken care of.

When he's settled and comfortable, she puts her head on his shoulder. Not running away this time, not scared, but cared for and content. Her daughter sleeping upstairs.

"Are you happy?" he asks.

She smiles and kisses him.

* * *

"I have no choice, Lizzie," he tells her. "I have to go."

"How long will you be gone?"

"Two weeks."

She swallows, her wistfulness evident. Two weeks. An eternity.

"Will you be able to call?"

"Of course."

"Okay."

The car is already waiting for him, his bags in the trunk, and he hugs her one last time, she shouldn't be this emotional, it's not his first trip and she knows she's being selfish, but she wants him safe and she wants him home and she hates goodbyes, no matter how temporary.

When she closes the door, she lingers. Moves towards the nursery after a few minutes, before she hears a key in the lock.

When she turns around, he's looking back at her, his head tilted, that everlasting habit.

"They'll be fine without me," he says. Like it's nothing.

Her reaction is all feigned outrage and quick steps. Her arms around his neck.

" _Dammit_ , Red."

* * *

They've made a habit out of baking together, him and the little girl. Because he has a passion for pastries and because she is his best audience. From her spot on the counter she watches his every move, laughs when he leaves a trace of flour on her nose.

The icing is her achievement, or so he will tell her mother later. _She's a natural_ , he'll say.

He won't mention that the nozzle was much too large for her small hands, and that it was actually him who did all the work. It's really not that important.

* * *

Sometimes it's her who has to leave. Because work requires it.

When she comes home eventually, often late at night, she finds him asleep in their bed and the little one next to him.

When she lies down, no matter how careful, he wakes. Through drowsy eyes he'll watch her and reach out.

"Welcome home."

* * *

"Go back to sleep, Lizzie."

"But Agnes-"

"I'll go check. Go back to sleep."

* * *

He isn't careful enough. Just this once. He thinks of her, thinks of their daughter, when he tumbles and finally loses his balance, and he sees Dembe getting to him, _hold on Raymond_ , and then it all stops.

When he wakes, it's to the insistent sounds of the ICU and to her sleeping form in a chair next to his bed. There's a hand clasping his. And he's breathing.

When she wakes, it's to his apologetic eyes staring back at her and a barely audible whisper.

"I'm sorry."

"I know, Red."

Her fingers reaching for his pulse, his heartbeat.

"I know."

* * *

It's the small moments she treasures. When the little girl starts mimicking his expressions, when her sleepy frown turns into a smile. She adores him, it's quite easy to see, much like her mother. He's always there when they need him. No exception.

It's the mornings he loves the most. To wake up rested and beside her, nothing remarkable really, something like simplicity. Her fixing his tie. Them sharing breakfast. Except it isn't simple. It's rather extraordinary.

* * *

"So much better than Iowa."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely."

She can hear the waves outside their room, the sheets are soft against their skin. A vacation at long last.

"Red, maybe it's time to get up."

"Maybe."

"Or?"

He moves to kiss her.

"Stay a bit longer."

Another kiss.

"Yeah?"

And another.

"Definitely."

* * *

She worries less with him close by. Because he has an answer for everything. Because he listens.

It comes with the job, surely, this practical approach to challenges, finding solutions that work for the two of them. She never takes it for granted, given their history, so close to loss, so close to irreparable damage, the hurt they've shared.

It's the way he gives her space when she needs it, how he senses her struggles, how it's instinctive because he knows her better than anyone.

It's how she can't stay angry at him for too long because he won't let her.

It's how he challenges her, so certain of her abilities.

It's how he trusts her.

* * *

"Are you happy, Red?"

He lets his fingers move down her arm, feels her eyes on him in the dark. Takes his time before he leans over and presses his lips to hers.

"Yes, Lizzie."

Pulls the sheets tighter around them.

"I am."


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Domestic bliss. Enjoy!**

* * *

She's lying awake in the middle of the night, her body resting against his side. She doesn't quite know why she can't seem to fall asleep, it's not for lack of exhaustion, but maybe there are too many things on her mind, too many thoughts rushing through her head.

"Red?" she inquires quietly in the dark.

She can't see his eyes, but his breathing pattern betrays him.

"What is it, Lizzie?"

She just wants to hear his voice, just wants to hear a story that calms her.

"Do you ever think about the future?"

"Yes."

"What does it look like?"

There's a brief pause, a moment he needs to make sure he picks the right words.

"It's a warm day in late August. There's a light breeze and the temperature is just right. You're walking along the beach in that red sundress I'm rather fond of."

She can't help but whisper against his shoulder. "So predictable."

"You smile as you watch Agnes play in the water. She's a surprisingly good swimmer, you know, even at her young age. A bundle of energy without a care in the world. Adventurous like her mother. But you don't need to tell her not to go in too deep- you know she'll be careful. She's a good girl."

She closes her eyes and sees it all play out in front of her now, never wants him to stop. And yet, there's something missing.

"And you?"

"What about me?"

He feels her questioning gaze on him, her concerns clear.

"Where are you in this picture?"

She worries, he knows, but there is no need. He reaches for her hand beneath the covers, finishes his story.

"I'm grabbing a towel from the house."

Intertwines their fingers and turns his head towards her.

"We don't want Agnes to catch cold when she comes out of the water, do we?"

* * *

"Another stuffed animal?"

"Yes."

"Don't you think we've reached maximum toy capacity?"

"There's no such thing, Lizzie."

* * *

"I really do need to get up, Red," she tells him between kisses.

"Five more minutes."

He's too good at this, positively pouting.

"Cooper won't be happy," she reminds him, tilts her head just right towards his. She never stood a chance.

He grins victoriously.

"I'll write you a note."

* * *

"Would you mind if we stayed in tonight?"

They've made dinner plans, their appearances polished and sophisticated to match the occasion, dress and tux, but she doesn't feel well, just a bit too dizzy.

He doesn't need a reason why, is perfectly content to simply spend time with her no matter their surroundings. As he discards his tie and jacket and moves to the kitchen, she pushes off her heels and makes herself comfortable in the living room, listens to him rummage through the cabinets. He hands her a cup of tea a moment later, settles down beside her on the couch and pulls a blanket over her bare legs.

"Quite the attire for an evening at home," she remarks somewhat sheepishly.

He unbuttons his shirt, runs his eyes over her body to finally meet hers.

"I rather enjoy it," he says, his tone unmistakable. Just suggestive enough. "Almost makes me want to rob an embassy."

* * *

"She'll take her first steps soon, you know."

"Lizzie?"

"Yes?"

"Tell her to stop growing so fast."

* * *

"Drink this."

She feels miserable and useless, hopes that whatever he is handing her right now will chase the flu right out of her system.

When he joins her in bed, he moves unexpectedly close.

"You'll get sick, too." Her voice sounds foreign and weak.

"I've survived worse," he says with a smile. Brushes some loose strands out of her face and kisses her forehead. "Have a little faith, Lizzie."

She thinks she'll be good as new in the morning.

* * *

His legs are heavy when he enters the house. It's been a dreadful day with seemingly endless negotiations, and he couldn't have endured another minute of all the senseless debating, just wanted to get back home. He's not as patient as he used to be and maybe that hurts his business, but the alternative is simply so much sweeter. Someone waiting for him. Someone expecting him.

When he looks inside their room, he finds them on the bed, the little one curled up next to her mother, half asleep. He doesn't join them immediately, just stands there leaning against the doorframe, tired, surely, but captivated by the innocence of it all, a bedtime story, like any other family.

Except this was his. Except this was his very own.

He removes his shoes and leaves them out in the hall, covers the distance between them in muted steps and lies down carefully, doesn't want to disturb the peaceful setting. She's reclined against the headboard and watches him, still all suit and armor, until he urges her to just keep going,her voice soothing as she resumes her tale.

The last thing he registers before drifting off is the sensation of her fingertips running over his scalp and the back of his neck. He thinks nothing could ever compare to this. Nothing could ever make him happier.

* * *

The little girl is safely seated in the crook of his elbow as he carries her around the room, listens attentively to his soft humming.

"Would you like to come with me to the Vanguard one day, Agnes?" he asks her. Her smile is bright and beautifully convincing.

"I'll take that as a yes," he responds and kisses her cheek.

* * *

"I'll be home soon."

"Yeah?"

"I promise."

She should be sleeping but can't bring herself to end their conversation. It's not the same, of course, talking on the phone, but it has to suffice at times. His voice, it's like a lullaby really, and she wants him next to her, wants it to be real and near and not distorted by the terrible connection. She has to get up for work in 4 hours. She wonders how soon he has to hang up.

"I miss you," he tells her. An understatement. He longs to see her quite desperately.

"We miss you, too."

Then the call ends.

When he returns to them three days later, he pledges he won't leave again for a very long time. Because phone calls are not enough. Because not being able to kiss her goodnight is not enough.

* * *

"Do you ever think about the future, Lizzie?"

"No, not really."

"Why not?"

There's a moment she simply looks at him, lets her eyes travel across his features, pauses here and there, thinks about how warm his skin feels against hers, how he seems to be the remedy for her troubles, the long play, the way he almost sighs when she kisses him, still, as if it's a gift, something to cherish.

She doesn't think about the future because she doesn't want time to get ahead of them.

Because she wants to watch their daughter grow up together.

Because she loves him.

"Because I like the present just fine."


End file.
